Bakery in Jaffa (Archives)
Photo: Niv Calderon
Burning of chametz (Archives)
Photo: AP
We forgot how to be Jewish
Yael Mishali bemoans public displays of Passover desecration, in Tel Aviv and elsewhere
For several years now, I have been avoiding Tel Aviv on Jewish holidays in particular. Pesach is a blatant example, because Tel Aviv’s public space is filled with chametz.
Costly Process
Sarit Sardas-Trotino
Drop of 20% registered in number of venues planning to undergo costly process of becoming kosher-for-Passover
And no, I’m not one of those people who want to decide what one should eat based on one law or another, and I’m also not one of those people who strictly follow the small nuances of Jewish law. No, I’m just an old-style Jew, who likes tradition, possesses the right measure of nationalism, and is happy and proud of her people, her homeland, and her culture. Yes, my Jewish culture.
The first (and last!) time I entered Tel Aviv in Pesach I did so innocently. It was a mistake stemming from lack of understanding. It happened exactly four years ago. My children and their father went on a trip and I took advantage of the break in order to look for something at the northern section of Dizengoff Street. The coffee shops were filled to capacity, a happy and lively spring holiday spirit lingered uninterruptedly in the streets, and a scent that cannot be confused was everywhere; freshly backed dough, straight from the oven.
Buns, baguettes, pita bread, rye bread with Galilee spices, and whatnot; and as part of the scrupulous Aviv design, matza was also placed on each table.
On normal days, I am not strict about looking for a kosher certificate when I come to drink a diet Coke or a coffee at places designed for that end, even if they are right in Tel Aviv. However, that Pesach experience shook up my soul. This publicity, which is certainly not Jewish (it isn’t even cultural in my view, for reasons of national manners,) turned itself in one moment into something cheap and lowly that is embarrassing in its pseudo-secular compulsiveness; however, what in fact hides behind it is ignorance and alienation. Ever since then, Tel Aviv is a place I try to stay away from on other days of the year too.
I care
I’m not religious enough apparently in order to make pretenses of “I don’t care what each person eats in their own home.” The truth is I do care. I don’t go there because I understand the limits of the genre (religious coercion.) But I care. I care about the secular chametz on Pesach, the secular pork on Yom Kippur, and the Orthodox failure to stand up during the Memorial Day siren.
I care. And not because of Amos Oz’s reasons, not because it’s more “cultural” in the bad sense of the world, but rather, because it is more Jewish in the good sense of the word. This is why we gathered here, no? This is why I came here at least.
I remember with longing the days where seculars who were overcome by a desire for chametz during Pesach were forced to travel all the way to Jaffa in order to eat Arabic-made chametz or make sure to stock up on bread from Altshular’s convenience store on Pesach eve. However, much has changed since then, and Tel Aviv is no longer the only one to adhere to the “pork in a pita on Yom Kippur and Pesach” approach. The walls have been breached in Jerusalem as well, and the entire country has filled up with chametz.
What can I say, these people forgot how to be Jewish; but who will remind them at times where the alternative is Rabbi Ovadia and Rabbi Elyashiv?
